"Know thyself? If I knew myself I would run away."

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Personal:

Bio Born in the small Central Texas town of McDade, Vicky J. Rose grew up listening to folklore about gunfighters, outlaws, buried treasure and Indians. Since then, she's lived in East Texas, West Texas and the Houston metropolitan area, working in such places as grocery stores, a law office, a dry cleaners and a car dealership. At age forty, she attended barber college and later opened her own shop. Always in love with words, she went on to earn a B.A. in journalism with a history minor. Vicky currently resides back in Central Texas with her son, Dan.

The Old Rock Saloon where outlaws were rounded up and forced outside to be hanged on Christmas Eve in 1883 is now The McDade Historical Society Museum. Click here to read the story "McDade & Me" appearing in The Texas Folklore Society 2009 100th Anniversary Edition.

Need to download Adobe Reader to view "McDade & Me"? Click here.

 

Welcome!

Pictured at right is my friend Yevonne who went with me to pick up my chair. The man who redid it thought it was not a Jackson chair (see below) because the spindles are not eight-sided. But my father had told me it was, and a cousin said she had chairs she was positive were Jackson chairs that were not eight-sided either. So...regardless of what it is, it is still an old, old chair that at one time belonged to my grandfather. The man who redid it talked me into putting a flat-caned bottom in it. It's more comfortable, but still..., it kind of lacks the charm of the rope seat.

 

 

 

 

After watching Lonesome Dove and looking at one of the rope chairs in the movie, I dug mine out of the garage and determined to have it redone. This chair is known locally as a "Jackson Chair." It belonged to my grandfather, and he probably inherited it from his father-in-law. My great-great grandmother was a Jackson. Her brother's descendants used to make these chairs in the Blue Branch area, and they are becoming highly desirable with people who collect Texana furniture. Their father was Isaac Jackson, one of three Isaac Jacksons who came to Texas with Stephen F. Austin. Isaac got caught in a freak snowstorm in Brenham on his way home from helping a friend build a cabin. (It might have been the same year Galveston Bay froze over.) His daughter Elizabeth, my g-g-grandmother prayed with her mother, Zillah, within sounds of gunfire during the Battle of San Jacinto. Elizabeth's husband, James Heffington, was killed by Indians near Waco. Baylor University later came and purchased the land he owned from his offspring. Both Isaac and James were truly good men, and their widows never remarried after their deaths, something highly unusual in that time and place.

 

 

The steps are finished! (see below) Not bad for three old gals who can't measure worth a squat and start blubbering after lifting the first 10 bags of concrete mix! The steps are not rough; they are "rustic." The curlicue was an iron hanging I got at a garage sale in Ft. Worth for $5. A welder added rods for $50. (They would have been straight, but I got my measurements slightly off. Duh!!! What a surprise.) It wasn't quite long enough, so we added the wooden railing. The wood looks pretty, but it isn't quite as sturdy as the iron. The brown rocks came from around the tank. Next project--widen the sidewalk!

 

 

My article, "Seven Interviewing Tips," appears in the December 2011 issue of Roundup, the magazine of the Western Writers of America. It makes me sound much more intelligent than I am. I took newspaper and magazine writing classes at Sam Houston State University and later at Angelo State University but really haven't done all that many interviews.

Conducting interviews is one of the most nerve-racking things I can possibly think of to do, but in the end mine have turned out well (for the most part!) because I love for people to talk to me.

Click here if you'd like to read the interviewing article. (I gave up on the four-part historical fiction mentioned at the end of the article. That project has quietly bitten the dust.)

 

I came up with the brilliant idea of redoing the steps and managed to rope my friend Connie and her sister Debbie into helping me. Sixty-two bags of cement later and we are still not finished! We tried to make the form look exactly like the one in the book. I don't think we succeeded. Our idea of measuring is to say, "Okay, it's 2½ plus one more little line long." ( 2 and 5/8????) We keep tripping over rocks, Christmas lights, the dog. Connie said she is praying to Jesus for our safety. I'm just praying we'll still be friends when this is all over with!

 

 

I recently moved Buddy's dog castle and repainted it, even though I've only seen Buddy in it one time. He sleeps in the house on the floor at night and only uses this in dire emergencies if I am not at home. It doesn't look too bad from the front.

However, the side tells a different story. Everything I make turns out crooked and lopsided. I am a willing carpenter (sometimes), just not a very good one! However, Buddy has the only dog castle that I know of in Pleasant Grove, so that counts for something.

I took my Buddy to the Elgin Vet Clinic today for his annual physical. They were having a Halloween Pet Photo contest, so I came home and entered Buddy. He thought he was being tortured. First by a feisty Airedale at the clinic that nearly scared him to death, and then by me when we got home. Poor Buddy! (I hope my son doesn't get mad because I borrowed his things as props! I made sure the gun was unloaded. I almost shot my foot once when I was younger, and ever since then, I'm very, very careful.)

I needed a picture for the print version of Treasure Hunt in Tie Town. The above photo was fine, but I forgot to save a high resolution copy of it and had to take another. I got that one on the first take, but the next time, I had to make several tries. It is normal for professionals to take 200 or more pictures before they get one they like. I thought I was going to have to take at least a hundred. I don't photograph well, and Buddy wasn't too cooperative! And the final one:

 

 

My dog Buddy. The stupid grasshoppers ate every blossom off my blackeyed peas, and I didn't get anything.

 

 

Me with my friend, Lora B. Garrison.

 

 

 

Me with my sheltie, Lucky, many years ago in Colorado near where they filmed the original (and best) True Grit. Lucky got old and deaf. One night, he strayed too far from the house and the coyotes got him. I cried for months.

 

 

 

 

 

Me with Evelyn Wolf, the registrar of the Baron de Bastrop Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic Texas. I'm holding the papers of my twenty Republic of Texas ancestors. I couldn't have done all that research without Evelyn's help and encouragement. She is a sweetheart.

 

 

And on the other side of the family is my Hungarian grandfather, Papa H. At left he is shown in front of his blacksmith shop in what I think is early-day Pflugerville, Texas. He later became a farmer on the blackland prairie near Elgin. I don't think he had much luck being a farmer and later turned to carpentry work. He grew incensed when he heard some men of German ancestry talking about the "fatherland." He said, "This is your land now, your home. Forget about that other place. If not, you should just go back!" He loved cigars and dominoes. My father said, "He was a good old man, don't you girls ever forget that." My cousin said, "He was the sweetest man."

At left: January 1957, age 1½

Below: Age 3

 

 

The Seventies!

My friend Connie and me on the car my dad bought me after we finally stopped feuding with one another--a 1963 Chevy II he paid $250 for. I loved that car!

Rusty and me in our western outfits. To read more of my adventures with Rusty, click here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Left, me at Bastrop State Park. I read a funny story in Reader's Digest magazine. A pregnant woman sat on the beach with her husband. A curvy 16-year-old walked by, and the pregnant woman burst into tears. She told her husband: "I'll never look like that again!" He said, "Don't worry, she won't either."

 

At right: Changed a little bit in the last 40 years, haven't I? I'm still smiling, anyway!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Me with my buddy since childhood, Sharon.

 

 

 

I had to stop cutting hair when I couldn't stand the pain in my shoulders, arms, and hands any longer. My hands would go so numb, I was beginning to drop the clippers. I still cut my son's hair. I think my friend Shannon, who went through barber school with me, took this picture. I wasn't too awful at cutting hair, but I am not a businesswoman. You probably already guessed that, right?

 

 

 

 

My nephew, Austin Weaver, on the left, my son, Dan Rose, on the right. Dan works at Don Hewlett Chevrolet as a parts man. He deals with GM & various aftermarket places to get the right part to the mechanic. Austin is teaching school in South Korea. He wants to make enough money to pay off his student loans and get his masters degree.

 

 

 

Below: Our house

Buddy & me (I had him neutered, and he stays closer to the house.)

 

My son, Dan. He's holding a horn pipe that belonged to his great-grandfather, Papa H.

 

 

 

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